


soft on you

by raewrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blowjobs, Fingering, M/M, NSFW, Near Future, and tsukishima is a little shit, handjobs, kuroo is a fucking fond nerd, reunited, stay tuned for beyond dorky banter, the whole goddamn enchilada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrites/pseuds/raewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kei's not sure what brought him to Tokyo. </p><p>It’s not like Kei has many expectations upon arriving at the station, standing amongst weary, everyday commuters, wilting before the work day has even begun. He doesn't expect to 'find himself' like the young woman across from him keeps chatting about, starry-eyed and naive, hands folded in her lap, fingers twitching in eager anticipation, staring dreamily out the window. </p><p><i>He doesn’t quite believe in that sort of thing.</i> </p><p>Kei doesn't expect to find anyone else either, doesn’t expect to see a familiar face among the thousands swarming the streets of urban Tokyo, a face he didn't think he would encounter after three years of inevitable separation as the result of both physical distance as well as difference in age.</p><p>Well, Kuroo Tetsurou <i>had</i> crossed his mind upon boarding the train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft on you

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S NEARLY TWO MONTHS LATE BUT HERE IS THE PROMISED KUROTSUKI FOR THE WONDERFUL EDEA
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE YOU ARE LOVELY BEYOND WORDS 
> 
> i'm not about that gritty, angsty, hate-sex kurotsuki life so have these two being massively fond dorks instead

Kei's not sure what brought him to Tokyo.   
  
He can’t quite remember what willed him to buy a one-way train ticket with little thought as to when he would return.  
  
It's not like him to be spontaneous and he thinks about this as he leans his temple against the cool glass of the train window, smudged with fingerprints and grime from countless passengers before him.   
  
It’s not like him to push aside rationality and act on impulse, act on a patchy ‘what-if' conceived in the late hours of the night, following through the next morning with little thought into logistics, only to be considered once it’s too late to go back.  
  
It’s not like Kei has many expectations upon arriving at the station, standing amongst weary, everyday commuters, wilting before the work day has even begun. He doesn't expect to 'find himself' like the young woman across from him keeps chatting about, starry-eyed and naive, hands folded in her lap, fingers twitching in eager anticipation, staring dreamily out the window.   
  
_He doesn’t quite believe in that sort of thing._  
  
Kei doesn't expect to find anyone _else_ either, doesn’t expect to see a familiar face among the thousands swarming the streets of urban Tokyo, a face he didn't think he would encounter after three years of inevitable separation as the result of both physical distance as well as difference in age.  
  
Well, Kuroo Tetsurou _had_ crossed his mind upon boarding the train.    
  
Kei _had_ made the connection between the bustling metropolis and the older boy, the long graduated, Nekoma volleyball team captain with the untamable hair, loose grin, and almost irritatingly easy-going attitude. For a moment Kei had even pulled out his phone and scrolled down his contacts, staring at the characters of the other’s name on the screen before pocketing it again within the depths of his duffle, the cat emoji Kuroo had inserted next to his name upon stealing Kei's phone so many years ago still fresh in his mind, the memory itself pulling subconsciously at the corners of his lips, an action Kei only notices upon seeing his reflection in the window.  
  
They meet again in a community garden of all places, one Kei had walked into, again, on impulse. It’s a semi-secluded space among the steady hum that complies Tokyo’s characteristic car horns, sirens, and seemingly endless static of noise; all of which become somewhat drowned out amongst rows of box gardens, muffled between low hanging vines hanging from the terrace entrance, between the petals of lilies and daffodils and beds of tomato, radish, and leek patches.   
  
When Kei first notices him, Kuroo is facing away, dirt-stained, off-white t-shirt riding up the small of his back as he leans over into a bed of sunflowers, sunlight pouring down from between fluttering clusters of leaves, casting moving, fragmented shadows across the back of his neck, the broad ridge of his shoulders.   
  
Kei doesn’t think it’s Kuroo at first, stubbornly ignores the insistent beating of his heart within his chest as he strolls past, his footsteps sounding particularly loud as they scuff against the worn gravel path, deafening when Kuroo inevitably lifts his head at the sound, glancing at him from beneath a mop of hair as ridiculous as Kei remembers.   
  
They meet gazes and Kei feels irritatingly short of breath, numb in his fingers and toes as though he’s experiencing the entire scene from somewhere outside of his body as Kuroo slowly stands, his expression nonplussed, lips pulling into a characteristic grin.   
  
“Tsukki?” He asks, voice perhaps a dial deeper than Kei remembers, though perhaps not, he’s having a bit of trouble registering anything besides the way Kuroo brings the back of his hand to his forehead, wiping at the dirt smudged there, “What in the hell…”  
  
Endlessly grateful for his ability to manage coherency despite his apparent out-of-body-experience, Kei replies with a short, “Don’t call me that.” A remark he wishes contained more bite as a laugh bubbles up from between Kuroo’s lips, the other casually slipping one of his gloved hands into his pockets, the other coming up to rub under his nose.  
  
“Huh. So it _is_ you.” He says, head tilting as he looks Kei up and down, grin persisting, “Fuck me, did you get _taller?”_  
  
“By four centimeters.”   
  
“Well _shit.”_  
  
Kuroo’s changed too, Kei notices, perhaps not in height but in general build. His arm and legs, somewhat lanky when they first met seem broader, sturdier, and the curves of his muscles more prominent now as the other crosses said arms over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt stretching in a way Kei wishes they wouldn't.   
  
“So what brings you to Tokyo, Tsukki?”   
  
Kei lets out an involuntary sigh at the nickname, one Kuroo clearly notices, lips smug, as Kei replies with a shrug and monotone, “Not to see you, so don’t get your hopes up.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow and scoffing in mock offense, Kuroo clutches a hand dramatically over his heart, whining a pathetic, “You wound me, my protégé. As cruel as the moment I became your mentor, which was what?” Kuroo pauses briefly in thought, eyebrows creasing, “Three years ago? It’s been that long?”  
  
“Not long enough, really.”  
  
“So cold.” It’s as the other’s complacent expression returns to the arch of his eyebrows and curve of his lips that Kei frowns in suspicion, waiting for the words he knows are inevitable, “You know, you could warm up over coffee.”  
  
Kei stubborning ignores the subtle flutter he feels at the base of his ribs, covering with a roll of his eyes as Kuroo holds him with an irritatingly charming smile, tilting his head invitingly, coaxing Kei into the saying the ‘Yes’ that’s already pushing at the back of his teeth.   
  
“If you pay.” Kei eventually relents, hooking his index fingers in front of him out of habit, tilting his chin in challenge.  
  
“Cold _and_ broke?”  
  
“Well.”  
  
“Alright, fine.”   
  
Kei raises an eyebrow, eyes narrowing as Kuroo leans down to gather his backpack, brushing it free from dirt and flower petals before slinging it over his shoulder, patting down the front of his shirt and looking up to meet Kei’s incredulous expression.  
  
“That’s surprisingly kind of you.”  
  
“Please, I’m always this kind.” Kuroo replies, hand over his heart in imitated honor, only breaking character when Kei’s skeptical look persists, frowning slightly and adding, “And that look is uncalled for. C’mon, I’m buying you a damn coffee. I’m practically a saint.”  
  
“A single cup of coffee is really the standard for saint-hood, nowadays?”  
  
“I knew you were a smart-ass, but I think you leveled up since last time I saw you.”  
  
“It’s a skill of mine.”  
  
“That it is, Tsukki.”  
  
***  
  
Kei fell in love with pieces of Kuroo before he fell in love with all of him.   
  
A slow, but inevitable process as the result of well-placed charm and gentle prodding towards what Kei never realized was anything more than shallow attraction and moments of brief, fleeting interest.   
  
Sometimes he wonders if he began falling in love with Kuroo before or after they met beside that patch of towering sunflowers late last spring, or perhaps on both occasions, dormant feelings rekindled over hot coffee and smiles caught off guard.  
  
He’s not quite sure if it worked the same for Kuroo, he’s never bothered to ask; somewhat flustered at the thought of doing so even after months together. Though, Kuroo hinted at as much, joking about Kei possessing a 'frozen heart', one in need of thawing by what Kuroo had at one point described as ‘the fiery flames’ of his ‘ceaseless, unyielding passion’; a proclamation they had both been a little embarrassed by, hiding heated cheeks with raised eyebrows and increasingly sarcastic remarks.   
  
Kei thinks he obtained the first piece that first day, standing outside the café with goodbyes on their lips, thought neither quite ready to say them.   
  
“So, where are you staying?” Kuroo had asked, hands curled within the depths of his pockets, leaning against a light post just out of the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk, eyeing Kei with undemanding curiosity.   
  
Kei could have lied, and he almost did, ready to make up a story on the spot if it wasn’t for an incessant tug near his heart, a tug he only realizes now was the will to stay near Kuroo, to be within the other’s presence for just a little longer rather than preemptively cutting whatever ties they had made that afternoon.   
  
Kei had shrugged instead, nonchalant as he glanced away from Kuroo’s gaze, looking instead to the café’s ‘Open’ sign, glowing neon red in the window before replying with a noncommittal, “I haven’t thought about it.”  
  
“You haven’t thought about it?”  
  
“That’s what I said.”  
  
Kuroo had raised an eyebrow, looking Kei up and down as though he hadn’t just shared the afternoon with him, scoffing with a teasing, “Hello yes, am I still speaking to Tsukishima Kei, also known as ‘Tsukki’ also known as, ‘smartass’?”  
  
“Shut up, Kuroo.”  
  
“I’m just saying!” Kuroo had replied, putting his hands up in defense, still grinning in barely masked disbelief, “Thought you were the type to have a plan.”  
  
Kei had simply shrugged again, fingers curling in front of him as he glared pointedly at Kuroo, “Well, I don’t, so...”  
  
“So, you could stay with me.”  
  
It had been a simple enough suggestion, nothing too absurd, a reasonable offer in light of the discussion between them. It wasn’t the suggestion itself so much as the way Kuroo had said it, generally teasing tone dialed down to something soft, something genuine, something purely _kind_ , Kei realizes now; his expression inviting, like a hand offered without demanding to be taken.   
  
It was this gentle side of Kuroo that Kei fell in love with first, the first piece of whatever puzzle he’s continued completing ever since. The hand he had subconsciously taken, perhaps on impulse, perhaps as the result of something greater, yet to be revealed, the many intricacies that compiled Kuroo’s being and whatever the two of them had between them to be discovered with time.  
  
“That’s shady.”  
  
“How is that shady?!”  
  
“I don’t know, you’re just shady in general. It’s the hair.”  
  
“I bought you coffee, you little shit. This is how you repay me?"  
  
“Little?”  
  
“Do you want a place to stay or not, smartass.”  
  
“I suppose."  
  
***  
  
“Tsukki.”  
  
“What?”  
  
They’re curled up on the patchwork excuse of Kuroo’s couch, the only light in the room coming from the TV across from them, playing a commercial both of them could recite by heart, one Kuroo _has_ reenacted multiple times, much to Kei’s annoyance. The TV screen casts a comfortable, white glow over the two of them, the rest of the room dim, natural light from the window having faded with time as the day wore on, the two of them too comfortably lazy to bother getting up to switch on another light.  
  
Kei doesn't say so outloud, but Kuroo feels good pressed against him like this, a comofortable weight molded to the dip of his hips, the curve of his stomach, Kuroo's arms curled around his abdomen, fisting into the back of his shirt, face nuzzled into Kei's chest, pressing a kiss or two there, causing an abrupt laugh to escape between Kei's lips as he does so.  
  
"Hey, quit it. What do you want?" Kei tries to say, attempting conviction in his voice, but instead finding himself interrupted as Kuroo inches himself upwards, trailing feather-soft kisses to the curve of Kei's neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the hinge of his jaw, before dropping his forehead to the dip of Kei's shoulder, breaking into a sudden snort of laughter.  
  
Kei can feel the vibration of the sound against the juncture of his neck as Kuroo’s giggles only increase in volume, shoulders shaking as Kuroo tries to gather his words before he finally lifts his head until he’s level with Kei’s mildly confused, _more_ than mildly annoyed expression.  
  
“I want you and your beautiful soul, babe.”  
  
“Oh my _god.”_  
  
“I don’t want another pretty face.”  
  
“Holy shit. Are you really-"  
  
“I don’t want just anyone to hold.”  
  
“Please stop.”  
  
“I don’t want my love to go to waste.”  
  
“We’re breaking up.”  
  
“I want you and your beautiful sooouu-"  
  
Huffing in an attempt to fight the grin pulling at the corner of his lips, Kei lifts a hand to push against Kuroo’s face, the other mumbling in muffled protest into the curve of his palm.  
  
“But baaabe.”  
  
“No buts. No babe, either.”  
  
“So cruel. I was serenading you and you didn't even appreciate it. Romance _is_ dead.”  
  
“No, that’s just you if you sing that song to me one more time.”  
  
Kei can feel Kuroo’s lips curl into a grin against his palm as the other lifts a hand to pull Kei’s wrist away, leaning forward just enough to press their lips together, moving slow and undemanding, matching the lazy flow of the day, content breaths shared between them as Kei curls his fingers against the back of Kuroo’s neck, the other’s grip becoming lax around his wrist in favor of brushing the pad of his thumb against Kei’s jaw.  
  
They kiss like that for a while, lips and tongues caught in an idle battle of ebb and flow with no true winner, stealing each other’s breaths in equal measure, eliciting content hums and gasps like they’re treasures to be taken, swallowed between lips that give as much as they receive. The feeling buzzes warm underneath Kei’s skin, tingling comfortably from his toes to his fingers threaded through Kuroo’s hair, willing him closer, deeper within the shared space they’ve created, room enough only for them.   
  
It’s when Kei rolls his hips upwards, enticing, willing acceptance to his invitation, that Kuroo draws away to catch the other’s gaze, alluring, not so much demanding as already knowing the answer to a question he doesn’t have to voice aloud. Kuroo agrees with eyebrows raised, tongue flicking between saliva-wet lips, voice low and amused when he asks, “Here? On the couch, really?”  
  
“Hell no.” Kei scoffs, glancing briefly to the side, as if reaffirming the shitty state of the couch, "It’d probably snap in half.”  
  
“Plan on going hard, Tsukki?”  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re opposed?”  
  
“Me? Never."  
  
Pushing himself up with a waggle of his eyebrows and an over-dramatic groan more befitting of man three times his age, Kuroo eventually stands to his feet, stretching his arms over his head before offering his hand out to Kei, one the other takes, gasping in surprise when Kuroo pulls him to his chest in one swift motion, forward momentum and lack of balance causing the two to collide, Kei’s jaw making sharp contact with Kuroo’s cheekbone.   
  
_“Ow, fuck!”_  
  
_“Why_. Literally _why_ did you think that was a good idea?”  
  
“Isn’t that what they do in movies?” Kuroo asks, rubbing a hand against the red welt on his cheek, looking beyond pathetic, bottom lip sticking out just slightly, “One person pulls and the other falls into their arms? That’s totally a thing.”  
  
“Maybe if the person doesn’t pull with the same force intended to start a _lawnmower.”_  
  
“Practice makes perfect, babe.”  
  
“Then you can practice with someone else, _babe.”_  
  
Kuroo fakes a hurt expression just long enough to elicit an exasperated, yet fond sigh from between Kei’s lips before replacing it with another characteristic grin, reaching out to take Kei’s hand again, this time gently slotting their fingers together, urging for Kei to follow him to their bedroom, a cramped yet cozy space off the corner of the living room.  
  
Allowing Kei to step into the room first, Kuroo follows, nudging the door shut behind him before moving into Kei’s space, stealing the breath on his lips, hands cupping Kei's jaw, thumbs pressed like assurance against his temples, easing him in slow steps backwards until the back of Kei’s knees hit the edge of the bed, stumbling somewhat unceremoniously into a laying position against its perpetually unmade sheets.  
  
Kuroo leans over him, bent up on his knees straddling Kei’s waist, propped on his elbows, breaking away from somewhat numbed lips to press an open-mouthed kiss against the hinge of Kei’s jaw, his other hand toying with the hem of the Kei's t-shirt, curling it between his fingers.   
  
Kei feels a twinge of annoyance at Kuroo’s teasing grip, pulling at the fabric with little intention to remove it, preferring instead to trail kisses down Kei’s neck, peppering his skin with gentle nips, eventually biting hard enough to draw a surprised gasp from the other, Kei arching against the sharp touch, the twinge of pain dissolving to a pleasant ache as Kuroo soothes it over with the press of his tongue, an apology for the mark it’s bound to leave.  
  
“Asshole.” Kei murmurs, reaching a hand up to push back the hair falling into Kuroo’s eyes so he can give the other a proper glare, “You didn’t even try to be discrete with that one.”  
  
“Fine, that’s the last _visible_ one.” Kuroo offers, leaning forward to press their lips together, speaking against them, voice low and gravelly, Kei’s heart skipping when Kuroo sucks his bottom lip between his, pulling lightly with his teeth.  
  
“See, you have the capacity to be sexy,” Kei says when Kuroo leans up to sit against Kei’s hips, reaching a hand back to pull off the sweatshirt he had been wearing to reveal a faded grey t-shirt, one Kei himself has worn on multiple occasions, “But ninety-nine percent of the time you prefer to sing shitty, outdated pop songs and assume rom-com physics work the same as real life ones.”  
  
“Oh c’mon.” Kuroo huffs, good-natured smile countering the slight roll of his eyes, “I’m more than _one_ percent sexy. At _least_ two percent. _Three_ on a really good day.”  
  
“That’s pushing it.”  
  
Instead of replying, Kuroo simply lifts an eyebrow, holding his gaze with Kei’s as he presses his palm against the dip of Kei’s stomach, sliding it under his t-shirt, pushing it up as he does so, following the subtle contours of Kei’s abdomen, the arch of his ribs, before eventually thumbing over one of Kei’s nipples, eliciting a low hiss from the other.   
  
It’s as Kuroo leans over him again that Kei takes the initiative, propping himself up to pull the shirt over his head, bare chest revealed to Kuroo’s amused expression, lowering himself further, even with Kei’s chest, hot breath ghosting over Kei’s already erect nipple when he says a teasing, “Just couldn’t wait for _me_ to do it, huh?”  
  
“Well, you were being so damn slow abou-”  
  
But his next words are cut off as Kuroo presses the tip of his tongue against Kei’s nipple, wet touch and cool draft from the window drawing a hushed moan from between Kei’s lips, back arching into a steady curve.   
  
“You’re so sensitive here.” Kuroo comments, purposefully flicking his tongue just as Kei opens his mouth to retort, a small gasp replacing any of the words he had been intending, “What if I just did this the whole time?”  
  
“Shut up-“ Kei manages, breath hitching when Kuroo sucks his lips fully around his nipple, tongue flicking rhythmically from between closed lips, gently pinching the other between his fingers, encouraged as Kei’s eyes close, mouth agape, involuntary noises; moans, gasps, and hushed profanities busy upon his lips.   
  
Kei feels arousal building in the pit of his stomach when Kuroo slides a hand down his abdomen, palming him through his sweatpants, cock hardening under the touch, slow and steadfast strokes against the outline of his cock arching Kei’s hips upwards, eager for more than what he’s being given, a fire Kuroo’s only just begun to stoke, burning coals emanating a gentle heat rather than the flames Kei yearns for.   
  
“More..” He breaths, impatient, reaching his hands down to tilt Kuroo’s chin to meet gazes, flushing red to his ears at the string of saliva glistening subtly in the dim lighting, connecting Kuroo’s bottom lip to the nipple he had been nurturing, pink and erect, sensitive still as Kuroo’s laugh ghosts a hot breath across its surface.   
  
“More?” Kuroo grins, his next stroke particularly firm, letting up just as Kei allows a low groan to break through his lips, bitten, gaze hooded with with want, arms splayed over his head, fingers gripping into the pillow, “Isn’t patience supposed to be a virtue?”  
  
“I don’t need virtue.” Kei hisses, rolling his hips into Kuroo’s palm again, aching for the other's long fingers, calloused and practiced around the bare length of his cock, “I need you to _touch me.”_  
  
“But I _am_ touching you.”  
  
“You're literally the worst. If you won’t, I wi-"  
  
Kei chokes out a gasp as Kuroo finally slips his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, thumbing the elastic of his boxers before evading those as well, finger snaking along the surface of Kei’s cock, sending sparks of pleasure down his spine, legs spreading involuntarily as Kuroo works his grip around its base, stroking slow and purposeful, encouraged by Kei’s sounds, needy, almost whiny has Kuroo rubs the pad of his thumb against the head of his cock, Kei’s legs twitching with the simulation as his does so.   
  
_“F-Fuck."_  
  
Kuroo leans forward to press their lips together, swallowing Kei’s profanities between his lips, twisting his wrist in such a way that Kei visibly shudders, waves of pleasure stimulating the nerves under his skin, feeling too hot, yet with potential left to go up completely in flames.   
  
Kuroo breaks away from his lips, raising an amused eyebrow as Kei subconsciously leans forward to follow, Kuroo whispering a promise for their return somewhere much lower, pressing a quick kiss against the corner of Kei’s lips, trailing following touches to the underside of his jaw, the juncture of his neck, harnessing his pulse, heartbeat quickened under the touch of his lips, the curve of his collarbone, and down the length of Kei’s chest, pausing briefly at the soft bump of Kei’s stomach, nuzzling his nose there, eliciting a surprised giggle from Kei as the other tickles him with teasing breaths against his naval.   
  
“You can’t give me a handjob _and_ tickle me, asshole.” Kei manages between breathy laughs, attempting a snarl but failing miserably, lips pulling into a persistent grin instead, “Pick one, preferably the former.”  
  
“I thought you would appreciate a man who can multi-task.” Kuroo replies, glancing up at Kei from beneath dark eye lashes, eyebrows waggling in a way Kei wishes wasn’t so damn charming, “Not many can say they’ve mastered the art of the handjob/tickle combo.”  
  
“You’re so embarrassing, holy shit.”  
  
“You keep mistaking ‘embarrassing’ for ‘sexy’.”  
  
“I’m getting less hard by the second.”  
  
“Your cock is _literally_ in my hand so I can say with complete accuracy that that is not the case.”  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
As Kuroo matches Kei’s mildly mortified exasperation with a grin, Kei lifts a hand to push at the other’s forehead with a huff, trying to pretend that Kuroo’s consequential laugh doesn’t pull at the corners of his lips the way is always does.  
  
“Didn’t you promise something?”  
  
Kuroo withdraws his hand to hook his fingers around the waistband of Kei’s sweatpants, pulling them down completely, Kei’s cock bouncing flushed against the dip of his stomach until Kuroo takes it in his hand again, pulling a testing stroke, glancing up as Kei sucks in a breath, hip twitching in reaction, arousal like an long-drawn out ache to the tips of his fingers and toes.  
  
“About giving you hella good head? I’m getting there."  
  
The press of Kuroo’s tongue flat against the the length of his cock is enough to hook a low moan from between Kei’s lips, head falling back against the pillow, hips arching into the wet touch as Kuroo trails his tongue up the underside of Kei’s cock, the tip of his tongue dragging over the slit of the tip, a sudden shudder of pleasure wracking Kei’s nerves, toes curling into the bed sheets as he does so.   
  
When Kuroo’s lips fully envelop him, cheeks hollow and obscene, Kei bites his bottom lip between his teeth, reaching a hand to curl his fingers into Kuroo’s hair, tugging slightly as the other bobs his head, twisting his wrist in time with purposeful strokes, watching as Kei’s eyelids flutter closed, unraveling beneath him.  
  
Kei lifts his head in confusion when Kuroo’s eyes widen as if he’s had a sudden thought, making a muffled sound of exclamation, and Kei rolls his eyes, face flushed and breaths short as his says a beyond exasperated, “Christ, don’t talk with your mouth full.”  
  
Kuroo retracts his lips with a distinct pop, licking them as he glances just to the right of Kei’s shoulder, “Hey, toss me the lube in there.”  
  
Huffing in what Kei pretends is irritation rather than impatience, he rolls onto his side to pull open the bedside drawer, rummaging blindly within its somewhat questionable contents for the small bottle before he finally grabs hold of it, tossing down to Kuroo, muffling a not so discrete laugh as it collides with Kuroo’s forehead, the other making a small noise of indignation.   
  
“Couldn’t have just handed it to me? One of my hands is busy, after all.”  
  
“I thought you said you could multi-task?”  
  
Sitting up to flick open the bottle’s cap with his thumbnail, Kuroo squeezes a considerable amount of the substance into his palm, tossing the bottle to the floor again as he rubs it between his hands, squinting at Kei’s smug look, “I never specified the circumstances in which I’m an efficient multi-tasker, did I?”  
  
“It must have slipped your mind.”  
  
“Well, unfortunately in the very specific situation in which I have a dick in one hand and a bottle of lube flying at my forehead, my multi-tasking skills lessen significantly.”  
  
“Is that so.”  
  
“The sad truth.”  
  
“Disappointing, really."  
  
“I can make up for it.”  
  
“Mhm?”  
  
Kuroo matches the smug curl of Kei’s lips with his own, readjusting himself to kneel level with Kei’s inner thighs, pressing a series of kisses against them followed by gentle bites, leaving lilac marks only where he’ll be able to see them later, peppered against Kei’s skin, visible where his legs prove too long in proportion to the length of his boxers.  
  
Kei makes a noise of impatience, toeing Kuroo’s side, willing him into some sort of action, cock twitching against the dip of his stomach, seeking eager attention from Kuroo’s hands, his mouth, anything in the absence Kei believes is much too prolonged.   
  
Kuroo presses his index finger against Kei’s entrance and the other’s hips twitch visibly, Kei lifting his chin to meet Kuroo’s gaze, a request for permission, one Kei gives with a huff, an almost ‘get on with it’ and Kuroo can’t stop the fond grin on his lips, noting the way Kei’s breath catches in his throat when Kuroo pushes his finger in, eyebrows pulling together in reactionary discomfort, lips bitten and eyes closed, adjusting.   
  
“Okay?” Kuroo asks, murmuring against Kei’s thigh, pressing a gentler kiss there, encouraging, patient.   
  
“Mmm.” Kei hums, fingers gripping and releasing the bed sheets curled between his fingers, pausing for a series of seconds before nodding again, “Move.”  
  
“Right, right.” Kuroo sing-songs in response, bending his wrist, curling his finger upwards, seeking and _finding_ if the arch of Kei’s hips and the gasped moan is anything to go by.   
  
_“T-There.”_ Kei breathes, the word barely distinguishable between speech and labored pants, “F-Fuck, right _there.”_  
  
“No shit.” Kuroo deadpans, catching Kei’s glare with an irritatingly satisfied grin, curling his fingers again for the pleasure of watching Kei’s expression crumble, eyelids fluttering, mouth falling agape, head rolling to the side, toes curling into Kuroo’s shoulders.   
  
Kei’s moans are drawn out as Kuroo continues in his ministrations, sitting up for a better angle, for the opportunity to see Kei twitchy and needy beneath him, vulnerable and trusting in a way that allows a wave of adoration to swell in Kuroo’s chest. He takes Kei’s cock in his other hand, matching the speed and pressure of his strokes with the caressing touches against Kei’s prostate, noting the flush of pink against Kei’s usually pale skin, fingers grasping for something to hold onto, something to give him purchase, feeling numb everywhere besides where Kuroo is touching, familiar, giving, and Kei feels warmth, alit, a fuse drawing towards its inevitable end.   
  
“Don’t have to hold back, babe.” He hears Kuroo say, and Kei doesn’t realize he’s been biting his lips, moans muffled against closed lips.   
  
As Kei opens his eyes to meet Kuroo’s, he notices the softness in the other’s expression, the perpetual, teasing glint of his eyes still present, but almost gentle otherwise, much like the day they met, or were reunited, two people wandering into each other’s presence out of thousands of possible alternatives. In that moment, Kuroo’s lips are curled into an encouraging smile, a suggestion, an invitation for Kei to let go, to reach out and take what’s being offered to him; to release lingering inhibitions and _trust._  
  
Kei’s orgasm is a drawn out process, a sudden surge of pleasure followed by smaller waves, eliciting an abrupt gasp at his climax accompanied by lower moans, hummed between pulses of overstimulation, Kuroo finishing with steady strokes despite the mess of come between his fingers and splayed across Kei’s abdomen, enough that Kei finally pushes his foot against Kuroo’s chest, breathing a labored, “S-Stop before I fucking come again, holy s-shit.”  
  
“That would be fun though, wouldn’t it?” Kuroo asks, head tilted, grinning somewhat mischievously before complying with Kei’s stubborn look and withdrawing, standing to walk to the adjoining bathroom, reaching against the wall for a hand towel, tossing it to Kei as he paces back across the room and flops next to him, “I could arrange that, you know.”  
  
Kei hums again, pleasure still tingling like warm static beneath his skin, head rolling to meet Kuroo’s expression, eyebrows raised, satisfaction hanging off the curl of his lips, lips he presses against Kuroo’s, drawing him in with a content sigh.   
  
“Mm but what about you?” Kei asks, murmured against the curve of Kuroo’s lips, stretching his leg to press the pad of his foot against the front of Kuroo’s jeans, grinning at the distinct outline of Kuroo’s cock, quite hard already, only made worse as Kei grinds his heel against it, “Maybe I should take care of you first.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”  
  
“You never are, are you?”  
  
When Kuroo pauses, it’s as if he’s considering how to word something unbefitting of words as a concept, something conveyed through touch and feeling rather than anything with the potential to be spoken aloud; something outside the realm of language, primitive in that way, but timeless in another.   
  
When Kuroo grins, Kei understands. He feels it too, the feeling of being enveloped, of lying at the bottom of a safety net, staring up at an endless sky, endless potential they’ve only just begun to grasp.  
  
“Never when you’re concerned.”  
  
“You’re so sappy, oh my god.”  
  
“Yeah, but in a literal sense, you’re the one who’s sappy. As in sticky. As in there’s still come everywhere.”  
  
“Literally incredible.”  
  
“I know I am."


End file.
